


Miscommunication

by noblydonedonnanoble



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:10:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/noblydonedonnanoble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place immediately after the filming of the Graham Norton episode that involved both of them.</p><p>A nice, fluffy universe where there is no Georgia to complicate matters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miscommunication

                We’re driving away from the studio when he starts the conversation.

                “So, have you ever considered it?”

                I look over at David, but his eyes are fixed pointedly on the road. From what I can see of him, it doesn’t even look like he’s trying to suppress a smile; his face appears to be vacant of all emotion. So I respond slowly and carefully. “Considered what?” Because maybe, just maybe, he’s talking about something else.

                He shrugs and runs a hand through his hair awkwardly. “Y’know. The possibility that we could fancy each other.”

                So that is what he was talking about. As soon as the words come out of his mouth, the car feels far too cramped. I immediately do everything in my power to _not_ show how uncomfortable that simple question has made me. “No, no... Have you?”

                “Oh, no, me neither, of course not.”

                “Right. Good,” I mumble. He nods his agreement.

                For a few moments, we sit in silence, although I feel more like I’m drowning in it. I have to say something. Anything to stop me from feeling like I’m going to be sick. “Yes.”

                No, that really didn’t help matters.

                “Yes?” David’s head jerks around and he looks at me with wide eyes.

                “I mean, maybe, y’know, as a passing thought. A very, very quickly passing thought.”

                “Ah, right, yes, same.” He clears his throat and nods.

                “Really?”

                We pull up to a stop light and now this is awful because David doesn’t have driving to distract him. This is awful because every stop light will simply prolong this conversation. And he turns to actually look at me. “Well, yeah, kind of like… well, you said yourself. Very, very quickly passing thought about the matter.”

                I fidget in my seat. “Maybe a few quickly passing thoughts. In dull moments, you know.”

                “Yeah. We need something to think about when lying awake at night.”

                He’s just told me that he thinks about me before he falls asleep. It seems to hit him almost immediately that such a statement really does not help matters and he directs all of his attention back to driving.

                “Exactly,” I say, simply to fill more silence as the light changes and we keep going. Thank God. “But never for long. Because it’s a silly idea.”

                “Very silly.” Silence for perhaps a minute. “What if we did, though? Can you imagine?”

                “That would be… odd.”

                “It would make playing Beatrice and Benedick even more fun,” he muses.

                I let out a small laugh. “I suppose we’d be able to find out if Graham was right and sleeping together helps improve a performance when playing opposite one another in a romantic comedy.”

                For a moment, we both chuckle together, but then another uncomfortable silence falls over us. At last, he says, “Well, but we wouldn’t know how having sex together impacts our performance of Beatrice and Benedick.”

                I frown. “David I don’t know about you but when I fancy someone, shagging is usually involved.”

                “No, no, that’s not… I didn’t…” He looks horribly flushed and if it weren’t for the fact that I still feel like I could be sick any minute, I would maybe laugh. “I mean. If we fancied each other, something would have… well, by now one of us would have done something about it and we would have probably… yeah.” He clears his throat again. A lot of that happening. Perhaps I should offer him some water. “So we wouldn’t notice the impact because we would have no base to build on.”

                “Ah. Yeah, good point. It would have happened a long time ago if there were any sort of… anything that was… y’know. Going to happen.”

                “Right.”

                “But it didn’t happen. Because we don’t fancy each other.”

                Clearly, we’re beating a dead horse here. Somehow, though, I can’t stop talking, and I suspect David is facing a similar problem because really, anyone with complete control over their emotions would be able to take a conversation like this and morph it into something else.

                This thought, of course, brings to mind questions about why David doesn’t have complete control over his emotions at the moment and that really does not help matters.

                Because I have spent _quite_ a bit of time considering that I could fancy him.

                And there comes a point where it’s clear that you’re considering something so often because it _is_ , not because it _could be_. It scares me that my attraction to David is something that is.

                It’s something that I’ve been trying to work through and move past. Now that he’s brought it up, though, I feel so guilty. Have I really been so obvious that he felt inclined to hint that I should get over it? I didn’t want him to be able to tell, because I didn’t want it to spoil our friendship. What if I already have spoiled it?

                On top of that, he’s getting so worked up telling me to stop.

                I’m a horrible person.

                “Please say something…” he murmurs. “I don’t like this silence.”

                “You’re the one who brought it up…” I mutter.

                “I know. It’s just… I thought… It doesn’t matter. I’ll drop it. Let’s never return to the subject again.”

                “Yeah.”

                Until we reach my house, I gaze out the window. David doesn’t attempt to initiate another conversation.

                When he pulls to a stop, though, he actually puts the car into park and unbuckles his seat belt, turning to look at me. “Look, Catherine, I’m sorry, it’s just—“

                “No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t think—“

                “You have no reason to be sorry! I should know better than to expect—“

                “I don’t understand what you’re talking about! You have every right to—“

                David holds up his hand. “Stop. Wait. I get the feeling that we’re not talking about the same thing here.”

                “What… what are you talking about?”

                He doesn’t want to tell me, whatever it is. I see the terror in his eyes. But he also knows that I’ll stay until he says it. “I… I’m sorry that I fancy you. It’s not… I mean, it doesn’t get in the way, right? I can tone it down, and I just… I know that it will go away eventually. It just hasn’t yet. If you don’t want to spend time together outside of Much Ado, though, I’d understand.”

                What.

                _What_.

                I don’t know what to say.

                How the fuck can I reasonably respond to that?

                Did he really think that _I_ was telling _him_ that I wasn’t interested?

                “And now you’re not talking. Jesus Christ. What can I do to make this go away?”

                Even with all of the thoughts running through my head, the only thing I can come up with to say is, “Nothing.”

                But then his face falls and he sighs. “Oh. I can understand that, I guess. I’m sorry.”

                “Don’t say that,” I mumble. “Please, don’t be sorry.”

                “I am, though…” He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry that I’ve fucked up.”

                I can’t take him fumbling over explanations and apologies anymore. I can’t take the depressed expression on his face.

                Grabbing the neck of his shirt and straining against my own seat belt, I finally kiss him.

                And when I pull away and gaze at him, I say, “David, there’s this thing that I’ve always heard about really good actors who star in romantic comedies together.”


End file.
